Chapter 98: Half-Drawn Steel

The soldiers tightened the half-circle around Jagger and his group, rifles raised.

There were nine of them.

Jagger counted them at a glance, not just the number, but the details that mattered. Two were sweating so much that their grips kept slipping. One on the far left stood too wide, trying to steady nerves he could not hide. Another had his rifle aimed too high, chest level instead of center mass, like he had trained on targets instead of living people.

They were armed, but not all of them were ready.

The street behind them still smoked from the Herald’s death. The werewolf’s remains hissed on the asphalt, filling the air with the stink of burnt fur, blood, and rot. Blue-white reflections from the Humvees and Valkyrie rifles flashed across broken glass and twisted metal.

Jagger took it all in, then let his eyes settle on the real problem.

Chase and Jace.

The twins had not moved, but the change in them was obvious. The easy smiles were still there, the casual posture, the polished humor, but beneath it, something colder had stepped forward. Their green eyes had gone flat and sharp, and suddenly the street felt smaller with them standing in it.

’We can take them all,’ Ophilia murmured, smooth and eager. ’Those two are the only real threats here.’

Jagger hated that she was probably right.

A short distance away, Ulna and her Valkyries watched in silence. They did not step in. They did not try to calm it down. They simply observed, still and unreadable, as if waiting to see which way the violence turned before deciding whether to join it.

’Let me take control,’ Ophilia said, her tone dropping into something softer. More dangerous. ’It would be a pleasure to break their bones.’

’I don’t trust you that much,’ Jagger shot back.

A low hum of amusement brushed through his mind.

’Fair. But we cannot give them that core. We need it. Elite material means stronger gear, better leverage, better odds.’

Before he could answer, another voice crashed through his skull.

’I DON’T NEED THAT. GIVE ME CONTROL.’

Zumthor’s roar tore through his mind with savage force.

’I’LL RIP THEM TO PIECES!’

The two voices collided inside him like beasts slamming together in a cage.

Pain exploded behind Jagger’s eyes. He grabbed his temple hard enough for his knuckles to whiten, teeth clenching as the pressure spiked through his skull.

“What the…” he hissed.

The pain surged again.

“ARGH! FUCK!”

The shout ripped across the street and startled everyone.

Nico flinched violently, nearly stumbling. Jung shifted in front of Jagger on instinct, shield rising. Abdul lowered his sword and tightened his stance. Rhea stiffened. Mara’s rifle lifted half an inch. Lyra’s grip hardened. Ulna’s eyes narrowed.

And two soldiers panicked.

Their rifles jerked.

Their fingers clenched.

The shots broke the street open.

Gunfire cracked through the night in two sharp bursts. Muzzle flashes bloomed bright and violent in the smoke.

Jung started to turn. Nico’s face went white. Abdul swore and moved.

Jagger saw the bullets coming.

Not at first as metal, but as motion. Pressure. Alignment. Shaking hands, snapping triggers, death crossing the distance.

Then time slowed.

The muzzle flashes widened. Recoil crawled up the soldiers’ arms. Shell casings spun through the air, catching light as they turned. Smoke coiled from the rifle barrels in pale streams.

The bullets came toward him in a blur of copper and violence.

Chase moved first.

Or Jace did.

Jagger could not tell.

They stepped at the exact same moment, so perfectly synchronized that it was impossible to separate them. Their hands blurred to the katanas strapped across their backs, fingers closing around the hilts in one fluid motion.

Steel whispered.

Neither blade fully left its sheath.

That made it worse.

Their katanas slid out only a few inches, just enough for polished steel to catch the light.

Then the world snapped sharply again.

Chase turned his wrist and cut across the first bullet’s path with a movement so small it almost looked careless. The half-drawn blade kissed the round with a shriek of metal, knocking it violently off course. It spun away in a streak of sparks and punched into the side of a wrecked sedan with a brutal clang.

Jace’s motion came beside his, shorter and cleaner. Her blade flashed once. The second bullet struck the edge at an angle and spun off in a shower of orange sparks before burying itself in the pavement with a sharp crack.

Then silence hit.

The shots had lasted less than a second.

No one moved.

Even the soldiers who had fired looked stunned by what they had done. One had gone pale beneath his helmet, breathing too fast. The other still had his rifle raised, but his hands were shaking so badly the barrel trembled in plain sight.

Chase slowly lowered his hand, katana still only half-unsheathed. The steel gave off a faint metallic ring as he angled it back toward the scabbard without fully sheathing it. His expression barely changed, but the brightness in his eyes had thinned into something razor-sharp.

“Well,” he said softly, almost pleasantly, “that was rude.”

Jace sheathed her blade fully, the click of metal against wood unnaturally loud in the dead street. She turned her head toward the two soldiers and spoke in a voice as calm as a surgeon preparing to cut.

“Put your weapons down. Now.”

They obeyed instantly.

Both rifles hit the ground in clumsy, panicked motions. One of the men nearly dropped his weapon twice before finally lowering it properly. The other looked like he might vomit, his face drained of blood, breath coming in short, ugly bursts.

“And stand by the Humvees,” Jace said. “Do not speak. Do not move. Move.”

They rushed to obey, stumbling over broken asphalt and spent casings. One clipped his boot on a slab of shattered concrete and nearly went down to one knee before scrambling back up. The other kept whispering under his breath, something between a prayer and an apology, never once lifting his eyes from the road.

Chase watched them go and let out a quiet chuckle as he rolled the cigar between his fingers. “You gave them a proper fright, didn’t you? Maybe a little too much.”

Then he looked back at Jagger, his smile returning, though there was still a hard edge beneath it now.

“Now,” Chase said softly, “let’s try that again.”

Jagger lowered his hand from his temple. The pressure behind his eyes had faded, but not the memory of it. Ophilia and Zumthor had retreated into the depths of his mind, leaving him with a raw headache, the stench of burnt copper in the air, and the werewolf core still pulsing in his palm.

He stared at Chase for one long second.

Then he tossed the core.

Chase caught it one-handed with lazy ease.

“Take it,” Jagger said. His voice was quiet, but it carried. “Temporarily. Don’t confuse restraint with obedience. I expect that back.”

The easy amusement in Chase’s expression sharpened into something more interested. “Temporary custody,” he said lightly. “See? So much nicer when everyone chooses civility.”

Jace stepped closer, rolling one shoulder slightly as if loosening the stiffness from the street fight. “You may open the gift box you received later,” she said.

Jagger’s eyes narrowed.

Then the thought landed.

’Not just the title. The way they know. The familiarity with the reward. Both of them are hunters who have killed Heralds too.’

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